Election* fever part II – feeling the heat
Election season is dragging.
No last-minute public holiday announced for today’s local election. Shame, we could have all done with a day off to escape the heat.
It’s hot, sticky and dusty. Unusually there is also a strong wind, firing dust and dirt across the road as we walk. The clean floors of the house are dirty within minutes and have to be laboriously mopped – thankfully not by me – every day.
Our compound is blocked in by various lines of Electoral Commission (EC) tape. Our little close is sealed in, to left and right. It feels like a crime scene and I hesitate to cross.
I want to take a photograph of the ladies sat in the middle of the road under enormous umbrellas but the army officer doesn’t allow me to. The sun is harsh, it must be 37° today.
As I open our compound gate, I see a large cow has broken through one of the tape cordons and is approaching the polling station. (I’ve heard about the ‘ghost voters’ but who sent in the cows?)
I don’t understand why there are three polling stations within a 100 metre stretch along our road. Enid explains that it’s for security reasons: monitoring the stations and overseeing the counting of the votes at the end of the day is much easier. So, it’s good for transparency but perhaps not quite so good for the voters who have to walk from all over the neighbourhood to this one area.
Later in the day, I pause to watch what’s going on at the polling station at the end of my road. We English would say we’re being nosy; for Ugandans, standing and watching, sometimes for hours and hours without saying anything, is quite normal behaviour.
The count is underway. An EC lady rep holds a pile of the enormous ballot papers, printed with colour photographs of candidates down the left-hand side of the sheet. As she removes the papers from the large plastic ballot boxes, she calls out the name of the candidate and hands it to one of a group of half a dozen Electoral Commission assistants standing around her. It’s a system, but it’s slow.
With the voting over for today, groups of young schoolboys trudge home in their bright yellow shirts and baggy bottle green shorts, each one carrying a heavy black rucksack full of books. On the path up the hill another group of people crowd around the next polling station: schoolboy passers-by, a soldier, boda boda drivers and I all stand to watch. The system at this second polling station is much less organised.
We’ve all become used to the increased security presence everywhere.
There are truckloads of police and soldiers. I was quite gobsmacked at the sight and sheer number of armed soldiers, in full body armour, standing sentry outside Centenary Park on the evening of the President’s (re)election celebration bash. The guns were lowered and the soldiers looked quite relaxed.
Politics and hot weather have in the past proved to be too hot to handle in Uganda. The infamous Dr Stockley commented that riots normally happen in March or September, the hottest times of the year. It’s no wonder President Museveni’s taking no chances.
In the mean time, Dr Ian Clarke, Stockley’s erstwhile chum has been the first muzungu to hold the position of L.C. (Local Councillor) III in Makindye, a Kampala suburb. He will now effectively be Mayor and govern a quarter of the capital city. Here’s the New York Times take on this interesting development.
*No I’m not being rude … many Ugandans from the south west get their Ls and Rs confused.
Johannesburg – don’t hit the panic button until after dinner
There is a feeling of space in suburban northern Johannesburg, by far the largest city in South Africa. The plots are big, the streets are lined with large beautiful trees and the treetops are full of the sound of birdsong. There are three big Hadeda Ibis on the chimney stack, a Crested Barbet appears by the dining-room window and the enormous and noisy Grey Louries or “Go Away birds” clamber about in the treetops and swoop low with floppy wingbeats.
Now on my second visit, I have become used to the high walls, the electric fencing and the electric security date.
I notice more people on the street this time around, particularly kids laughing and shouting on the way home from school. House staff sit and chat on street corners, male runners are accompanied by dogs. At clean and orderly road junctions, people sell Zulu beaded statues of lions, zebra and chameleons. The beggars seem friendly enough too.
PHOTO: Sex and shopping? Oh if you insist! Rosebank sunday market. The Zulu people have traditionally used beads as a means of communication especially as love letters. Colours and arrangement of the beads convey the message. Deep blue for example portrays elopement because it refers to the flight of the Ibis. Green is a good sign: it stands for peace or bliss.
Apart from H’s parting shot as she went out the other day “you do know where the panic button is don’t you?” I feel quite unperturbed.
H lives in Parkview. Shopping malls at Rosebank, Hyde Park and Craig Hall Park are close by. “Not another shopping mall!” I moan to H one day – even the Montecasino Bird Park is part of a shopping mall. In this paranoid part of the world, they make sense. Security is easier to manage but I have always hated enclosed shopping malls. It would be wrong to say this is not the real Jo’burg, but I feel it is only one version of it.
Perhaps unkindly, the 1998 Lonely Planet guide states:
“The northern suburbs of white middle-class ghettos – this is where you want to go if you want to pretend you’re not in Africa. White people driving Mercs and BMWs rush to busy antiseptic shopping centres and the only blacks are neatly uniformed maids and gardeners waiting for minibus taxis. There is little communal life although scattered about you find many of the city’s best restaurants and shops.”
The food is indeed fantastic, such a variety, so fresh and colourful. The large amounts of cash and diversity of immigrants in Johannesburg make for a good culinary combination. H spoils me at every opportunity. I sit drooling over another menu, savouring the choice and in no rush to order: white wine, halloumi, calamari, raspberry jam, lemon meringue pie for god’s sake! smoked salmon, egg’s Benedict, veggie shepherd’s pie. I AM IN HEAVEN. It’s such an antidote to the lacklustre cooking I’m used to in Uganda. I do not miss matoke.
In stark contrast to where she lives, H works in Hillbrow in central Johannesburg. The same 1998 Lonely Planet guide states: “Although large-scale outbreaks of violence are things of the past violent crime is still rampant especially in the centre and the Hillbrow area.” How those words must have stuck in H’s mind when she arrived in Jo’burg with VSO hmmmm, when was it – 1998?
A new start for the Sudanese but ‘same same’ for Ugandans
Welcome South Sudan! With 98% of the Sudanese voting ‘yes’ to partition of the country, I look forward to a new stamp on my passport.
There are nine days to go until the presidential elections here in Uganda. The walls, lampposts and Palm trees are plastered with election posters, some giving basic guidelines to candidates and the excitable electorate. Notices like “it’s illegal to cover your number plate with a candidate’s election poster or to create an effigy of a candidate” tickled the Muzungu.
The high profile Electoral Commission (funded by external donors) is doing its best to educate voters, (although it hasn’t been above criticism). There’s a large poster by the side of the road showing people how to vote properly e.g. showing a tick or fingerprint.
I read in Saturday’s Monitor newspaper how the opposition is proposing a delay in the election day. One of the unconstitutional aspects they are complaining about is that there appear to be 400,000 more people on the register than there are of voting age.
There are some interesting election strategies at work. There are some good debates by some very intelligent people but there are some shenanigans too.
Many uneducated people are being bought off: I hear a vote can be as cheap as 500 shillings (15 pence), a bar of soap or a bag of sugar. This weekend we read the rumours about the wife of the leader of the opposition wanting a divorce. “Where do you want me to go if I leave such a handsome man?” she asked. The NRM are jealous, she said, and are just trying to cause arguments and detract from the issues at hand.
It seems a certainty that President Museveni will remain in power for another term.
There’s been a noticeable show of strength. In the last two weeks we’ve seen a lot more police and military police on the streets. Yesterday a military helicopter flew over the house. It’s not intimidating, they’re not doing anything but they’re there. Crossing Jinja Road during rush-hour yesterday several trucks full of police moved past us. Up country, people are wondering whether the influx of troops will be used to cast additional votes. Rumour and counter-rumour, the muzungu’s not sure who to believe.
In the light of what’s been happening in the Arab world, particularly Egypt, you have to wonder whether that excitement might spread to Uganda. People think it unlikely “but you never can tell” said my friend who works for the US Defence Department.
The poster in a taxi window summed it all up for me: “Don’t vote for sugar. Vote for issues.”
Early morning sights and sounds
A parrot just flew overhead, its unmistakeable call heralding fun.
It’s a misty morning but you can tell it’s going to be a bright day. As we walk up Muyenga Hill, a glimpse of Lake Victoria in the distance never fails to lift my spirits.
It seems my favourite ‘worst’ road is being improved. This steep marram road was incredibly difficult to navigate, especially after the rain, even in a 4 x 4. I saw a matatu minibus taxi stuck here once, marooned for the night, forcing the passengers to disembark in the pitch darkness into a churned up sea of red clay.
I love cutting across this clear open patch of ground between the houses. A few large mango and jackfruit trees remain and the open stretch of land is cultivated with maize and cassava. Kampala is one enormous construction site so it won’t be long before the crops here give way to a new building.
“Baldrick loves his walks!” exclaimed Ronald last week.
Baldrick looking into one of the pools in Bukasa quarry, Muyenga
Baldrick and Percy on a rock ledge overlooking a pool in Bukasa quarry, Muyenga
Baldrick is excitedly sniffing the area. Any moment now he’ll run across the field.
‘Poison release training’ with Ronald seems to be working well – in the compound. Out here the training continues. Twice I had to shout at him “DROP IT!” There’s still plenty of sniffing going on. (I wonder what a bloodhound looks like? I think to myself as I watch Baldrick run with his nose skimming the ground).
As we walk back down the hill, we pass a man standing in front of his house, handsome and bare-chested, a traditional African kanga wrapped around his waist, a little baby in each arm. He smiles and points out ‘mbwa’ – the dog – to his children.
A sight for sore eyes! I amble home with a smile on my face.
Recorded on my digital Dictaphone one morning.
Erection* fever
Every monday evening I run through the slums and wetlands of Kampala, through the traffic or across the golf course, in and through the lives of thousands of Ugandans along with 150 fellow Hashers. Dr Ian Clarke, founder of Kampala’s International Hospital (IHK), is one of us.
Like him or loathe him, he’s an impressive character. This month he is standing for the seat of L.C..III (Local Councillor) and, if elected, will govern a quarter of Kampala, Uganda’s capital. He’s popular with many Ugandans as they think if he has his own money – IHK is the biggest private healthcare provider in the country – he’ll be above corruption.
International Hospital overlooks Namuwongo which has a slum of some 100,000 people. With inadequate public health infrastructure, many Kampalans look to the free service offered by the Hope Ward or the Touch Namuwongo outreach project. For many in Ian’s constituency, he’s already proved he can deliver. His public promise to improve the roads is already having an impact: I hear that hundreds of potholes across the capital have been patched up in recent weeks, as if to prove the point.
Hashers are crazy for free T shirts! So this Monday we waited in line to collect our free Ian Clarke T shirts and off we ran, shouting “Busuulwa!” Ian’s Ugandan name. It was hilarious.
We stopped at a few trading centres along the way to pose for photographers.
PHOTO: Ian leads the ensemble.
Silly songs, complete with embarrassing movements, are all part of the Hash culture.
Local kids couldn’t wait to take part in our silly antics
PHOTO: “ON IN” we cry as we take the last leg of the hour long run, back into the venue (a bar!)
It’s very hot at the moment and we were all glad to get back.
The dust was immense.
Much as I love the kids running alongside us, their little flip flops kicked up clouds and clouds of dust, making breathing even harder!
PHOTO: gathering at a trading centre.
A chance to catch your breath – and for Ian to meet another journalist.
*A word about this week’s blog title: these T-shirts must have been printed by a Westerner. The letter L doesn’t exist in the local languages.
“So what’s your plobrem?” they ask. It gets confusing.
Human Wildlife Conflict – in my bedroom
We are living through an extreme period of mosquitoes. It’s also incredibly hot. On Friday night I killed 30 mosquitoes in my little bathroom. On Saturday night, much the worse for wear, I staggered around and killed a mere 20 before giving up and seeking refuge under the net before I quickly started snoring.
Every house needs a Gecko
Last night I wasn’t quite so lucky. I didn’t notice the sound of the mosquitoes until I turned out the light. Then they seemed to be everywhere. The noise was so loud they distracted me from sleeping. At one point I was actually scared; scared that if I was to put the light on I would see an angry black swarm around my bed. The noise can be very misleading – there may only have been three of them.
Today I took action! I threw open the curtains and the hanging covering the bookshelves and sprayed the hell out of them all. I felt guilty afterwards: the spiders and geckos have been my friends, even though the geckos do make me jump sometimes. Will I now have the smell of a dying gecko to find? It seems so unfair; they and I are on the same side after all, hunting down mosquitoes.
Justice in the balancing act – Owino Market Kampala
Owino Market (St Balikuddembe) and the surrounding markets in downtown Kampala have more clothes than I’ve ever seen in my life. Imagine London’s Oxford Street, Petticoat Lane, the biggest Marks and Spencer you can find and Primark: take everything off the shelves, pile it high in neatly folded layers or mountainous heaps; remove the roof, take away the flooring and replace it with a fractured and muddy uneven mess; run some sewers through it. Condense this into some dark passageways where it is almost impossible for one person to pass – let alone for one person to pass, one to sell and another one to try on jeans – turn off the lights, fill it with more people carrying suitcases of goods on their heads; and then perhaps you can start imagining Owino. How our friend Alan came shopping here with three young girls quite amazes me!
So, well over her luggage allowance and having already purchased one excess bag for her flight home, Nat had talked herself into needing even more clothes to return to the UK with.
I needed some new clothes; I’ve put on far too much weight to fit into most of the clothes I brought with me two years ago. As someone said to me before I arrived in Uganda: “women go to Africa and put on weight. Men lose it.” And some!
There are serious bargains to be had at Owino if you’re prepared for the constant calls of “muzungu-how-are-you?” and the haggling. It’s persistent but mostly fair and a firm “No” is usually enough before you get sidetracked by the next sellers. The occasional “Sagala” (I don’t want it) from me generally stops people in their tracks, unaccustomed to hearing Luganda from a muzungu. You should hear the howls of laughter!
Nat caused quite a stir in her own right: every third or fourth man was trying to call out to her or touch her arm as we went past… “Is she your daughter?” They asked me. Humph.
Two hours of incident-free shopping behind us, we emerged into a sunlit area of the market to buy ice cold water and I spotted a ruddy faced lady selling sheets stacked high above our heads. One of the luxury items I brought back to Uganda was a duvet. My English friends back home scoffed at the idea – but they haven’t experienced a cool Ugandan night.
The lady didn’t seem to speak any English and wasn’t at all personable (unlike most of the other people in the market) but we agreed a reasonable 18,000 shillings (£6) for a duvet cover, a fraction of the 65,000 an earlier seller had asked for one. As I handed over the 50,000 note, I sensed something wasn’t right.
These valuable – & therefore rare – notes are much cleaner than the rest
Wary of being pick pocketed, I’d carefully stashed notes in various pockets of the handbag that I always have strapped to me. I knew exactly where the 50,000 note was – few ever pass through this volunteer’s hands! – and I can picture its distinct brown colour as the lady briefly disappeared behind the tower of sheets to get ‘the balance.’
“Where’s the other 10,000?” I asked without hesitation as she offered me change of a 20,000 note.
I wasn’t having any of it. She was trying to say something to me but I was adamant. I’d given her 50,000 shillings and I wanted 32,000 balance.
Her (apparent) lack of English meant other people quickly took over the argument, all taking her side and questioning my memory and my knowledge of the local currency. Within minutes ten men were arguing with me, insisting I’d made a mistake. I kept my calm, I didn’t accuse anybody but I was completely sure I’d passed over a 50,000 shilling note, so was Nat.
“All I’m saying is someone’s made a mistake” I insisted.
Ugandans love to argue and they love to stand around and watch, for hours on end so we were soon in the middle of a blazing row, watched from all sides, everyone keen to have their say. “We’re not getting anywhere here” Nat said after about ten minutes. I muttered something about contacting the police, hoping that somebody might back down but it didn’t seem to make a difference.
“So what are you going to do?” Someone asked as we prepared to walk off.
“What can I do? I am one person and you are 30.” I fumed.
Ooh I’m still cross about it now!
I handed back the duvet cover and the lady gave me the bright red 20,000 shilling note that she insisted I’d given her.
A hundred metre walk away, lo and behold we stumbled upon the police station! Nat and I exchanged looks and before we knew it we were inside the station filing a complaint. What were we getting into now though? And how much of the day were we about to lose? What would VSO say? Was I doing the right thing or about to cause a load more trouble for myself? Would this spiral out of control and end up in court or a plea for school fees that would exceed the amount that I was out of pocket?
With all these questions going through my head, we were quickly ushered in to make our complaint and within five minutes we were making our way back through the market, accompanied by three armed policeman. O god, no backing out now!
The ruddy faced lady was still there. The main protagonist in the argument looked surprised to see us again. Ha! But nothing changed. We had the same arguments all over again as the police listened to both sides. The market sellers’ rep chimed in too this time. I was 100% sure that I was right but I was careful not to call anyone a thief; I hoped I was offering them a way out.
Another ten fruitless minutes passed. The crowd grew, arms folded, all staring (you become immune to it).
Back at the tiny two room police station, I was surprised to be led straight to the chief, a senior policeman in his 50s. I greeted him in Luganda and he smiled from behind his big desk. He was very charming and held court over the assembled group of ten people seated either side of him on narrow wooden benches.
I wondered what the chief was thinking as he asked how long I’d been in Uganda and what I’m doing here. The questioning carried on around me in Luganda and I just had to trust that justice would be done.
Mid-questioning, someone walked past and unlocked the metal gate to the cell five feet to my left.
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that this was all going terribly wrong. Who was being thrown in the cell – me or the lady I was trying so hard not to accuse?
“We have never seen this lady in here before” he said “and since you both insist you’re not mistaken, perhaps you’d consider a compromise?” (This kind of situation must happen all the time).
With the negotiations over, and an agreement to buy the duvet cover which (perhaps surprisingly) I did still want, ‘the balance’ was down to me. (OK OK it still riles me but at least I didn’t get a bill for school fees!)
I handed the boss a 20,000 shilling note. As he passed it through the bars of the window to a boy in the street to get balance, I cried out in mock horror “Oh no! It’s starting all over again!”
There was a pause before one person laughed and the others quickly reassured me “No, no, it’s ok we know him.”
“I was joking,” I said, relieved to be on my way.
It’s official: life in a developing country wears you down
Striding through Heathrow Airport’s Terminal 5, travelling back from Uganda, laden with heavy bags, I realise how this place suits me.
I don’t have the same energy levels I left the UK with two years ago.
Here at Terminal 5, the flooring is flat, as far as the eye can see, and there are no potholes – you can just put one foot in front of the other, safe in the certainty you will not stumble. I have proper shoes on (not silly strappy sandals) and it’s cool.
“Wow!” I exclaim out loud to no-one in particular, as our coach pulls out of Heathrow. Anyone looking at the same view would think “she’s gone nuts,” staring at the pale grey sky and the nondescript grey industrial buildings next to them. The greyness is just so uniformly drab, I’d just forgotten how grey it can be.
We turn onto the motorway and come to a standstill in traffic straightaway.
It’s weird, I expected us to motor on. Suddenly it’s like driving in Kampala – mpole, mpole -“slowly by slowly” – I tell myself, nothing to stress about it, I’m on holiday after all.
I wonder if journeys here in the UK will ever seem as long again? Nowadays I’m used to day long drives to Uganda’s Queen Elizabeth National Park and ten minute journeys into town (that take an hour or more because of the ridiculous traffic jams).
On the train to Oxford, a man now wears latex gloves to pick up the passengers’ rubbish. I notice the posters at the railway station, asking us to “take care not to slip” and to not ride bicycles and skateboards through the station. How very considerate, and what a contrast to the dire lack of care or information in your average developing country.
It’s just so easy to telephone everyone! I get through straightaway. I can receive voicemail. I can leave messages on answerphones. I can send a number of texts at a time for virtually nothing. In Uganda, sometimes I wonder if I’m making excuses for my frustrations; back in the UK I’m consoled: I’m not imagining it, everyday life in Uganda really does wear you down.
Keeping a close eye on my expenditure in Uganda had been wearing me down again recently too. Life on a volunteer allowance can be tough.
Everything here in the UK seems so expensive to me! Two half litre bottles of water for ‘only £2.20’ – but I only want one small one! The Sun newspaper costs only 20p and I snap it up, eager to catch up on the latest gossip (I’m going to feel a bit lost otherwise over the next four weeks). The broadsheets can wait.
Do I just need a holiday?
Leaving town for the airport and why, oh ,why does Rashid choose to drive via the Clock Tower in the centre of town? We sit motionless in solid traffic for half an hour. It’s not the delay I mind, we have plenty of time; it’s sitting in the fumes.
When I first arrived in Kampala and people moaned about the traffic, I didn’t get it; it couldn’t be as bad as London rush hour. London has a lot more cars, but it moves a lot faster too – it’s managed. Here management means a set of traffic lights that change colour pointlessly while traffic police impeccably dressed in white (despite the red dust) offer random and contradictory hand signals to the passing traffic. At the start of the academic year, hand signals become more random and unpredictable, in the quest to pay school fees. Management of the traffic is forgotten, the lights merrily change in the background, the unsuspecting driver doesn’t know which set of rules s/he’s breaking – and does it matter? The traffic policeman or woman will pull you to one side and collect money for their school fees regardless.
Rashid’s car is overrun with cockroaches, again. I spot three through the car window before I (still) get in. They’re small though so I tuck my shirt in my trousers and forget about them. They often find their way into travel bags but they won’t last long in a British winter. Funny how blasé I’ve become about the once Unmentionables! Early blog followers will remember the stories!
I wonder how Kampala will have changed when I get back. Which roads will have been (temporarily) fixed? How many more election posters can you stick on telegraph poles and walls? How well trained will Baldrick be? How will I feel about another 9 months working for UCF?
I saw a dark brown grass snake yesterday at the top of Muyenga Hill. The sky was clear blue, the evening light was beautiful and the evening light reflected off Lake Victoria in such a way I thought I saw a savannah for a second. It was magical.
I felt my love of Ugandan returning. I never tire of the view from atop the hills and I’ve been working so hard I’ve been denying myself these walks.
“There’s nothing in here for you to steal mate.” A’s comment to the attendant doing the security check at the entry to the car park was disappointing. I don’t want to be associated with some ex-pat’s cynicism; I don’t want to become one of them. Is it inevitable? Will I in time become the same?
Kampala has shrunk. Everyone goes to the same places. I didn’t worry about the size of the place when I was having fun and had lots of girlfriends to go out with. I used to enjoy the fact everyone’s connected but now I see the city’s limitations.
Or do I just need a holiday?
Grasshoppers back on the menu!
Yet grasshoppers are quite a delicacy in Uganda. Last week, we experienced a biblical moment as clouds of grasshoppers flew above our heads as we ran through the banana groves. (So that’s what a plague of locusts must look like!) I kept my mouth shut just in case a grasshopper …
In the Old Taxi Park Kampala, with Diary of a Muzungu
It feels like the middle of the night but it’s just 9 p.m. in the Old Taxi Park. Commuters are standing in line patiently until a taxi arrives and then it’s a free for all. No chicken on my lap for this journey at least.We pass the boys selling chapatti, their wooden glass cabinets on the front of their bicycles lit up by a candle. The journey home is thankfully quick. I’m tired and I ache all over after yesterday’s 10 km race (part of the MTN Marathon).
muzungu runners MTN Marathon 10km
Half of Kampala turns out every year to run the annual MTN marathon. Not everyone is happy to wear yellow though (as it happens to be the colour of the ruling NRM political party too).
Today’s ‘recovery run’ at the Hash was hard work; I just didn’t have it in me.
As I limp home the last few hundred metres (hark at me, I’ve only got a blister!) I see dozens of cars parked either side of Namuwongo Road, where normally there are none. Thirty or more people are gathered outside the front of a house. And then I remember seeing the funeral services car outside the same house this morning.
I hear the sound of singing and notice the bowed heads.
A blog from last year was Grasshoppers – eat them or smoke them? Discuss.
Modelling condoms on World AIDS Day
To commemorate the significance of World AIDS Day, this week Kampala Hash House Harriers baptised me … “Used Condom.”
SIGH … as the momentum to give me my ‘Hash Handle’ grew over the last few weeks, so I sought the shadows of the weekly Circle. There was no escape. I encouraged them to call me by my Ugandan name ‘Nagawa’ but they were hearing none of it.
Eh banange!
The real highlight of the evening was a lady Ugandan doctor showing us how to put a condom on – to a stick of deodorant, which she was using “because I have no live penises here.”
With that, there were great roars from the crowd as men jostled to push their friends into the circle as volunteer models!
Used Condom. Modelling condoms on World AIDS Day
This time last year I was in South Africa visiting Holly, a flatmate from London student days. It was quite poignant to be with her in South Africa for World Aids Day. We both arrived in Africa via VSO. Holly traveled to Africa with VSO ten years ago to work for a tiny HIV/AIDS organisation that she has helped develop. The organisation has since grown significantly thanks to big name funders such as the Gates Foundation.
Last year the US Ambassador to South Africa said the country is beginning to wake up to the fact that ARVs (Anti Retro Viral drugs) save lives.
“If South Africa can defeat HIV, the whole of Africa can” he said. Quite a statement.
Red ribbon worn to commemorate World AIDS Day
Here in Uganda, a march – a “match” in the local Uglish – was planned to commemorate World AIDS Day. Unfortunately I was too caught up with a funding application deadline to take part.
On a girls’ night out last week, I pointed out a handsome-looking guy to one of my friends. “He’s (HIV) positive,” my doctor friend said.
“How do you know?” I asked. “Well his mum is and his dad are – so he probably is.” A sobering reminder that you just can’t tell who has HIV.
I’d hoped to travel to Kigali in Rwanda this month. Not knowing a lot about the country I decided to read “A Sunday by the pool in Kigali” by Gil Courtemanche, a haunting yet amazing book that relives the horror of the 1994 genocide (in which 800,000 people were slaughtered in just 100 days). It’s the most shocking backdrop to a love affair.
In the book is a character that willfully infects women with HIV. The book reads:
“Compared to this country [Rwanda’s] violence, Justin’s vengeance was rather gentle ….He has AIDS. When worried ladies demanded that he put on a condom, he would brandish a forged HIV negative certificate.” This man’s carefully executed vengeance (and this is just a taste of it) is astounding.
Condom machine – ‘preservatifs’ – in the ladies toilet in Kigali Rwanda
It’s tempting to lull ourselves into a false sense of security, believing that AIDS is the scourge of Africa and that back in Europe, AIDS isn’t a problem. My doctor friend reminded me: 10% of the population in London is HIV positive.
Uganda won international acclaim for the country’s head-on tackling of the HIV crisis in the 1980s. Something’s gone wrong in the last few years – and the statistics are climbing up again, particularly in married couples.
Managing HIV and AIDS starts with knowing your HIV status.
Do you know your status?
A bird’s eye view of Uganda – Big Birding Day
What is Big Birding Day?
It seems I can’t get enough of volunteering!
So, as Big Birding Day arrived, I was up before dawn to take part in this year’s 24 hour birding race (held to coincide with the World Bird Festival) entered by over 39 teams covering 33 sites across Uganda. Together we recorded 606 species.
And the best bit? Our team won!Uganda has more bird species per square kilometre than any other country in Africa. Uganda’s unique geographical positioning means there are more birds migrating north to Europe and back south to Southern Africa via Uganda than virtually any other African country.
Red Necked Falcon was a highlight of Big Birding Day Uganda. Photo courtesy of biodiversityexplorer.org
The Big Birding Day race
It was a grey start to the day, the clouds gathering over Lake Victoria threatening rain. Our first birds of the day, at a grassy hill above Lweza, seemed to confirm the trend for the morning’s weather:
Grey-headed sparrow, Grey-backed Fiscals (nine of them), African Grey Parrot, Grey-backed Cameroptera, Grey Heron, Eastern Grey Plantain Eater.
I couldn’t help but smile as I jotted down birds with such picturesque names as:
Laughing Dove, Brown Twinspot, Helmeted Guineaufowl and Scaly Francolin.
Nathan spots the Beeeaters on Big Birding Day
The lucky team of me, Roger and Nathan, had almost made it back to the car as the heavens opened, ideal time for us to drive the few kilometres to the next site, the fish ponds at Kajjansi, where we saw two types of Sandpipers, Long-toed Lapwing, Broad-billed Roller, African Harrier Hawk, Fan-tailed Widowbird, Yellow-throated Longclaw and two types of Vulture.
As the rain passed our count moved to the quarry to spot a Eurasian Reed Warbler, Wattled Starling, a Grosbeak Weaver – spotted by yours truly – and the highlight of the day, a rare Red-necked Falcon, not recorded in Kampala for 25 years.
On a hill overlooking Lutembe Lagoon near Kajjansi airfield we derided the enormous flower farm, whose fertilisers leech unchecked into Lake Victoria. Lutembe is both a Ramsar site and IBA, Important Bird Area, recognised internationally for their unique biodiversity. Pollution of the waters should not be happening here of all places.
Ramsar sites are areas of wetlands which are among the world’s most productive environments. They are cradles of biological diversity, providing the water and primary productivity upon which countless species of plants and animals depend for survival. They support high concentrations of birds, mammals, reptiles, amphibians, fish and invertebrate species.
Blue Breasted Beeeater, courtesy of flickr.com
On the Papyrus fringed wetlands overlooking Kajjansi airfield our binoculars picked out many firsts for me: Sooty Chat, Striped Kingfisher, Little Bee-eater, the beautifully named Red-faced Lovebird, Blue-breasted Bee-eater, Lesser Swamp Warbler, Black-shouldered Kite, Black-crowned Waxbill, and Lizard Buzzard. Without the indefatigable Roger “no time to hang around” I would usually have been content to watch the Sunbirds, ignorant of the difference between a Copper Sunbird and a Bronze Sunbird. Roger’s observations were a real eye opener and made me forget the pre-dawn start!
Wandering around Zika Forest with a clipboard, I was delighted to see Red Tailed Monkeys – my totem – in the high trees above us. One of them tutted at us loudly. “We don’t have time for mammals” a disappointed Roger scolded. It was as we left the Forest that we had the most bird sightings and Roger’s mood lifted. We were delighted to see Purple Headed Starlings and a Red-shouldered Cuckoo-shrike, rare visitors to Kampala and its environs.
Roger: “I know there’s a Papyrus Gonolek here somewhere …” Big Birding Day Uganda
As we drove onto the Entebbe peninsula, through the narrow tunnel underneath the airport runway, a lady skirted the perimeter fence, balancing several metres of firewood on her head. The sight seemed incongrous, the juxtaposition of the traditional and the supersonic.
With all the birds noted down, my binoculars strayed to the man in his underpants, fishing in the shallows…
“Charlotte, stop looking at that naked man!” Roger shouted.
There were more monkeys waiting for us at Entebbe’s Botanical Gardens: both Vervet and Black and White Colobus. (I had to admire the bravery of the nut seller who casually walked beneath a tree full of monkeys with his open basket of groundnuts).
Tired, but happy we’d secured a good score, we drove back to Kampala so Roger could start comparing scores with the other teams. Big Birding Day Uganda was a fantastic day out. Roger and Nathan introduced me to a whole new range of birds and some fabulous habitats (sewage ponds excepted!)
Papyrus Gonolek, photo courtesy of birdfinders.co.uk
A successful day – the official word
Teams recorded birds in all National Parks, Wildlife reserves, Important Bird Areas, Ramsar sites and Forest reserves and included community groups, groups of tourists, teams from NatureUganda, Uganda Wildlife Authority, Uganda Bird Guides Club and more. The highest record came from Kampala-Entebbe area with 175 species (that was us!), followed by Murchison Falls National Park (162), Queen Elizabeth National Park (160), Kidepo National Park (150), Mabamba Ramsar site (138), Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park (137), Mabira Forest Reserve (136), Bahai Temple-Park Alexander, Kampala (126), Kibale National Park (110), Lake Mburo National Park (110).
During the day, a number of key species were recorded that have not been documented on the Ugandan (bird) list for over 50 years and were about to be removed from the list; species that are not on the Uganda list at all and those that have over time extended their ranges to areas where they have not been recorded before.
Based on the Big Birding Day Uganda race, NatureUganda plan to develop a tour of Uganda that birders – from Uganda or from overseas – can follow to record the highest number of species. Birding is important for the development of Uganda’s tourism industry, with the potential for it being an even bigger revenue earner than gorilla tourism.
So what’s Ramsar all about?
The Ramsar Convention on Wetlands: Uganda presently has 12 sites designated as Wetlands of International Importance, with a surface area of 454,303 hectares.
Lutembe Bay Wetland System. 15/09/06; Wakiso; 98 ha; 00°10’N 032°34’E. Important Bird Area. Situated at the mouth of Lake Victoria’s Murchison Bay, this shallow area is almost completely cut-off from the main body of Lake Victoria by a C. papyrus island. The site supports globally threatened species of birds, endangered Cichlid fish, and over 100 butterfly species, including three rare ones. It is a breeding ground for Clarias and lungfish, and regularly supports more than 52% of the White-winged Black Terns (Chlidonias leucopterus) population. The system plays an important hydrological role, with the swamps surrounding the Murchison Bay acting as natural filters for silt, sediments and excess nutrients in surface run-off, waste waters from industries, and sewage from Kampala City. Lutembe Bay is being reclaimed and decimated for horticultural activities and the surrounding highly populated areas have been strongly affected by commercial and industrial development, urban wastewater, and conversion to agricultural land. A number of NGOs have been conducting conservation education activities in and around Lutembe, with the Uganda Wildlife Education Center (UWEC) only about 5 km from the bay. Ramsar site no. 1637.
Do you want to take part in Big Birding Day in 2013? The event is growing bigger and bigger every year and Diary of a Muzungu is delighted to be one of the media sponsors.
To register for Big Birding Day, visit NatureUganda or the Uganda Wildlife Authority websites.
If you like birds, check out the Muzungu’s Birds page for lots more Ugandan birding stories!
